Читать книгу Скорбь сатаны / The sorrows of Satan. Уровень 4 - Мария Корелли - Страница 4

The door opened. I could just perceive a tall shadowy figure standing on the threshold. I heard my landlady’s introductory words “A gentleman to see you sir,” words that were quickly interrupted by a murmur of dismay at finding the room in total darkness.

“Well to be sure! The lamp must have gone out!” she exclaimed, then addressing the personage she had ushered thus far, she added, “I’m afraid Mr Tempest isn’t in after all, sir, though I certainly saw him about half-an-hour ago. If you don’t mind waiting here a minute I’ll fetch a light and see if he has left any message on his table.”

The tall stranger advanced a pace or two, and a rich voice with a ring of ironical amusement in it called me by my name,

“Geoffrey Tempest, are you there?”

Why could I not answer? The strangest and most unnatural obstinacy stiffened my tongue. The majestic figure drew nearer, and once again the voice called,

“Geoffrey Tempest, are you there?”

I could hold out no longer, and like a coward, I came forward boldly to confront my visitor.

“Yes, I am here,” I said. “I am ashamed to meet you here. You are Prince Rimanez of course. I have just read your note which prepared me for your visit, but I was hoping that my landlady would conclude I was out, and show you downstairs again. You see I am perfectly frank!”

“You are indeed!” returned the stranger. “So frank that I cannot fail to understand you. You resent my visit this evening and wish I had not come!”

I made haste to deny it, though I knew it to be true. Truth, even in trifles, always seems unpleasant!

“Pray do not think me so churlish,” I said. “The fact is, I only opened your letter a few minutes ago, and before I could make any arrangements to receive you, the lamp went out. I am forced to greet you in this darkness, which is almost too dense to shake hands in.”

“Shall we try?” my visitor enquired. “Here is my hand!”

I at once extended my hand, and it was instantly clasped in a warm and somewhat masterful manner. At that moment a light flashed on the scene. My landlady entered, bearing ‘her best lamp’. She set it on the table. I believe she uttered some exclamation of surprise at seeing me, I did not hear, so entirely was I amazed and fascinated by the appearance of the man whose long slender hand still held mine. I am myself an average good height, but he was fully half a head taller than I, if not more than that. As I looked straightly at him, I thought I had never seen so much beauty and intellectuality combined in the outward personality of any human being. The finely shaped head denoted both power and wisdom, and was nobly poised on his shoulders. The countenance was a pure oval, and singularly pale. He had dark eyes, which had a curious and wonderfully attractive look of mingled mirth and misery. The mouth was firm, determined, and not too small. I felt as if I had known him all my life! And now face to face with him, I remembered my actual surroundings, – the bare cold room, the lack of fire, the black soot that sprinkled the carpetless floor, my own shabby clothes. He regarded me, smiling.

“I know I have come at an awkward moment,” he said. “I always do! It is my peculiar misfortune. Well-bred people never intrude where they are not wanted. I’m afraid my manners leave much to be desired[10]. Try to forgive me if you can, for the sake of this,” – and he held out a letter addressed to me in my friend Carrington’s familiar handwriting. “And permit me to sit down while you read my credentials.”

He took a chair and seated himself. I observed his handsome face and easy attitude with renewed admiration.

“No credentials are necessary,” I said with all the cordiality I now really felt. “I have already had a letter from Carrington in which he speaks of you in the highest and most grateful terms. But the fact is – well! – really, prince, you must excuse me if I seem confused or astonished. I had expected to see quite an old man…”

“No one is old, my dear sir, nowadays!” he declared lightly, “even the grandmothers and grandfathers are friskier at fifty than they were at fifteen. One does not talk of age at all now in polite society, it is ill-bred, even coarse. Indecent things are unmentionable – age has become an indecent thing. You expected to see an old man you say? Well, you are not disappointed – I am old. In fact you have no idea how very old I am!”

I laughed at this piece of absurdity.

“Why, you are younger than I,” I said, “or if not, you look like it.”

“Ah, my looks belie me!” he returned gaily, “I am like several of the most noted fashionable beauties, – much riper than I seem. But read the introductory missive I have brought you.”

I at once opened my friend’s note and read as follows,

Dear Geoffrey.

The bearer of this, Prince Rimanez, is a very distinguished scholar and gentleman, allied by descent to one of the oldest families in Europe, or for that matter, in the world. His ancestors were originally princes of Chaldea, who afterwards settled in Tyre. From thence they went to Etruria and there continued through many centuries. Certain troublous and overpowering circumstances have forced him into exile from his native province, and deprived him of a great part of his possessions. He has travelled far and seen much, and has a wide experience of men and things. He is a poet and musician of great skill, and though he occupies himself with the arts solely for his own amusement, I think you will find his practical knowledge of literary matters useful to you in your difficult career. In all matters scientific he is an absolute master.

Wishing you both a cordial friendship,

I am, dear Geoffrey,

Yours sincerely

John Carrington.

I glanced furtively at my silent companion. He caught my stray look and returned it with a curiously grave fixity. I spoke,

“This letter, prince, adds to my shame and regret that I should have greeted you in so churlish a manner this evening. No apology can condone my rudeness, but you cannot imagine how mortified I felt and still feel, to be compelled to receive you in this miserable den.”

The prince waived aside my remarks with a light gesture of his hand.

“Why be mortified?” he demanded. “Rather be proud that you can dispense with the vulgar appurtenances of luxury. Genius thrives in a garret and dies in a palace. Is not that the generally accepted theory?”

“Rather a mistaken one I consider,” I replied. “Genius usually dies of starvation.”

“True! But there is an all-wise Providence in this, my dear sir! Schubert perished of want, but see what large profits all the music-publishers have made since out of his compositions! Honest folk should be sacrificed in order to provide for the sustenance of knaves!”

He laughed, and I looked at him in a little surprise.

“You speak sarcastically of course?” I said. “You do not really believe what you say?”

“Oh, do I not!” he returned, with a flash of his fine eyes. “I always realize the proverb ‘needs must when the devil drives[11].’ The devil drives the world, whip in hand, and oddly enough, succeeds!”

His brow clouded and the bitter lines about his mouth deepened and hardened. Anon he laughed again lightly and continued,

“But let us not moralize. Morals sicken the soul both in church and out of it. Every sensible man hates to be told what he could be and what he won’t be. I am here to make friends with you if you permit. To put an end to ceremony, will you accompany me back to my hotel where I have ordered supper?”

By this time I had become indescribably fascinated by his easy manner, handsome presence and mellifluous voice. The satirical turn of his humour suited mine. My first annoyance abated.

“With pleasure!” I replied. “But first of all, you must allow me to explain matters a little. You have heard about my affairs from my friend John Carrington. I know from his private letter to me that you have come here out of pure kindness and goodwill. For that generous intention I thank you! I know you expected to find a poor wretch of a literary man. A couple of hours ago you would have amply fulfilled that expectation. But now, things have changed. I have received news which completely alters my position. I got a letter…”

“An agreeable one I trust?” interposed my companion suavely.

I smiled.

“Judge for yourself!”

I handed him the lawyer’s letter which informed me of my suddenly acquired fortune.

He glanced it through rapidly, then folded and returned it to me with a courteous bow.

“I suppose I should congratulate you,” he said. “And I do. Though of course this wealth which seems to content you, to me appears a mere trifle. It can be exhausted in about eight years or less. To be rich, really rich, one should have about a million a year. Then one might reasonably hope to escape the workhouse!”

He laughed, and I stared at him stupidly, not knowing how to take his words, whether as truth or idle boasting. Five millions of money a mere trifle! He went on,

“The inexhaustible greed of a man, my dear sir, can never be satisfied. If he gets one thing, he wants another, and his tastes are generally expensive. A few pretty and unscrupulous women for example, will soon relieve you of your five millions. Horse-racing will do it still more quickly. No, no, you are not rich, you are still poor, only your needs are no longer so pressing as they were.”

He broke off and raised his head,

“What is that?” he asked.

It was the violinist next door playing a well-known “Ave Maria.” I told him so.

“Dismal, very dismal!” he said with a contemptuous shrug. “I hate all that kind of mawkish devotional stuff. Well, Mr. Millionaire! There is no objection, I hope, to the proposed supper? What do you say?”

He clapped me on the shoulder cordially and looked straight into my face. Those wonderful eyes of his completely dominated me. I made no attempt to resist the singular attraction which now possessed me for this man whom I had but just met. Only for one moment more I hesitated, looking down at my shabby attire.

“I am not fit to accompany you, prince,” I said. “I look more like a tramp than a millionaire.”

He glanced at me and smiled.

“Upon my word you do!” he averred. “But be satisfied! It is only the poor and proud who dress well. An ugly coat often adorns the back of a Prime Minister!”

He rose.

“Why think of the coat if the purse is full!” he continued gaily. “Now come along. I want you to do justice to my supper. I have my own chef with me, and he is not without skill. I hope, by the way, you will let me be your banker?”

This offer was made with such an air of courteous delicacy and friendship, that I accepted it gratefully, as it relieved me from all temporary embarrassment. I hastily wrote a few lines to my landlady, telling her she would receive the money owing to her by post next day. I extinguished the lamp, and with the new friend I left my dismal lodgings and all its miserable associations for ever. I went joyfully out of the dreary house where I had lived so long among disappointments and difficulties. The last thing I heard as I passed into the street with my companion, was a plaintive wail of minor melody by the unknown and invisible player of the violin.